


To Build a Family

by dancingstar



Series: It Takes a Village verse [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingstar/pseuds/dancingstar
Summary: Aang knows that he and the mysterious stranger who saved him are meant to be friends. Unfortunately, everyone, including the stranger, needs some convincing.
Relationships: The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: It Takes a Village verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757953
Comments: 197
Kudos: 2182
Collections: Finished111





	1. Chapter 1

It’s annoyingly dim.

The torches cast meager lighting over the stone floor, and Aang can barely see his own feet. That might have more to do with the chains but– Okay, speaking of the restraints, they’re unfairly tight, chaffing at his wrists, pant-fabric rubbing burns into his ankles. His shoulders are getting sore, wrenched up at the angle they are. No one had listened to him when he said he wouldn’t run. He couldn’t!

_Furthermore,_ he can’t tell how long he’s been locked in, time moves funny, here. He only hopes Katara and Sokka are okay. The frogs are probably defrosted by now.

_And_ he’s bored out of his mind. Ugh. He’s counted the stone rectangles on the floor about a billion times, and he can’t even finish. His neck can only strain so far.

Groaning, he gives a full-body shake, metallic rattling giving him a break from the deafening silence.

It’s only then that he hears quiet _thumps_ outside the door. Like someone dropping a large sack. Repeatedly.

He can barely keep his breaths shallow as the noises slow to a stop; the silence is far more unsettling, now.

Hinges creak quietly, piercing in the empty air.

Aang can only watch as an eerie, unmoving smile emerges from the dark hallway. The face tilts as he’s examined.

Fear drops to awe as the figure moves further into the room. It’s a mask. Large teeth and exaggerated features, wide eyes and bright colors; the blue paint shines in the torchlight.

It’s fast. Whoever it is.

Like the spirit it emulates, it’s noiseless across the stone, only to slash his restraints with– swords? _Swords!_

Wide-eyed and free, he tumbles gracefully to the floor, catching himself on a pocket of air.

The Spirit-person is already back at the entrance, beckoning. Aang gleefully follows.

His rescuer refuses to respond to his questions. Whether it’s because they _can’t_ or _won’t_ isn’t apparent. He tries to ask if he’s one of the Yuyan– because how cool would _that_ be–but he’s cut off with a rough shove and a black glove pressed over his mouth.

Aang lets out a squeak as his back hits a wall.

Nearby metal-clad footsteps ring through the air. His eyes widen. Warning muffled.

But the Spirit-person seems to know what to do.

Sort of.

After dragging the guy through the forest for what seems like _hours,_ Aang sets him down on a grassy patch by a fallen log. Breathing heavy, he crosses his legs to sit a few feet away. The guy’s breaths were even, the only sound above the twittering of birds. His heart had nearly stopped at the way he’d dropped like a stone, arrow splintering over his temple.

To his relief, much stronger now that the adrenaline has cooled, it had hit his mask. He’s not bleeding. _Thank the Spirits._ The bruise, mottled purple and black, had formed quickly and looks none-too pleasant. But he’s– okay!

Now if he’d only wake up. He has _so_ many questions.

Besides the obvious secret identity and such. Like, where he’d learned to use _dual swords_ , how he’d managed to take out, like, a _whole_ battalion of Fire Nation soldiers, and how– How’d he know he was there? Also, it’s absolutely _necessary_ that they be friends, now. That one’s less of a question, though. No, they’re going to be _best_ friends.

Dead to the world, his new best friend sleeps on. Katara and Sokka are not going to believe this. A super cool, sword-bending, masked vigilante helped him escape from the _Pohuai Stronghold_ , the most fortified Fire Nation base in the whole world!

He needs to wake up. It’s not like Aang can drag him back to Appa, and his friends _need_ their frozen frogs. The ones he’d gathered had thawed, much to his chagrin.

Tapping his fingers on his knees, he decides to meditate while he waits.

Disturbed from his focus, Aang opens his eyes to the Spirit-person shoving an unsteady elbow under himself, other hand pushing equally at the forest floor.

“You’re _awake!_ ”

Rocketing upright, the guy blinks a wide eye in his general direction. Unfocused but clearly startled. He probably shouldn’t have yelled–

Body not quite ready for sudden movement, he nearly tips back over.

Aang lurches forward, grabbing his shoulders.

At that, the guy pulls away so hard his head hits the forest floor with a _thud_.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry…” he winces, “It looked like you were going to fall.”

From his spot in the grass, the guy turns his gaze, sigh halfway out of his chest. His eyebrow– just one– furrows, eye sparking in– recognition? Anger?

“What the _fuck_ are you still doing here?”

Both, it seems.

“The Yuyan knocked you out! I couldn’t just _leave_ you there!”

Now sitting up, the guy looks frozen in incredulity. Face contorted and everything.

“You need to leave!” He looks around at the empty trees, lowering his voice, “This place is crawling with the Fire Nation.”

Aang tilts his head, acknowledging the point, but doesn’t move. He _can’t_ just leave him here.

The guy stares a moment before sighing at the sky, shoulders slumping. He stands, prompting Aang to do so as well.

Thankfully, the guy seems much more stable now. No shaky limbs. Through the bangs falling over his forehead, he can see the bruise, still looking pretty nasty.

Unperturbed by his scrutiny, the guy adjusts the sheath across his back, puffing hair out of his eyes, and begins walking.

After a few moments of quiet footsteps, Aang skips up to his side.

“So, what’s your name?”

The guy startles.

“Sor­r–”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Your name?”

“What?”

“Is it your name that doesn’t matter, or the–?”

“ _Oma and Shu_ , leave me alone.”

Aang frowns, leaving the air to the chirping songbirds. Then, remembering, “Oh! Where are we going? Can you help me look for–?”

“ _No._ ”

The conversation falls silent after that. No matter what he says, asks, sings, or hums, the guy refuses to react, just keeps scowling forward. Katara and Sokka really _aren’t_ going to believe him about this. He won’t even have the guy to prove it.

Pouting, he stops following, recognizing that his friends need frozen frogs _more_ than he needs this guy on their team. The thought makes his nose crinkle, but it’s the truth. He turns back into the woods. Wind-ruffled leaves the only sound in his wake.

He can’t believe it! He _found_ him! The kinda’-scary-but-totally-cool-and-awesome ninja-spirit-guy is working _here_! At _this_ tea shop! _Right now!_ Aang hadn’t wanted to stop for tea, but _boy_ is he glad they did.

And sure, maybe pointing and yelling ‘it’s you!’ at the guy isn’t the best way to say ‘hello, again,’ but he couldn’t help it. Hands close uselessly over the air by his biceps as he leaps and bounds toward him.

He escapes. _Spirits darn it._

At least the tea cakes are good.

“I don’t know, Aang. He didn’t seem super happy to see us last time.”

“But, _Katara_ –”

“We know nothing about him, bud,” Sokka interjects, “He could be Fire Nation for all we know.”

“I _do_ know about him! While you were sick, he _saved_ me from­–”

“The Pohuai Stronghold,” the siblings echo, punctuated with two rolled eyes and two crossed arms.

“We know,” Sokka says, “but we need to be more careful about who we let in.”

Katara flushes, downcast. Jet still fresh in their minds.

Aang reaches to comfort her, but Sokka continues.

“Not everyone has our best interests at heart.”

“Not everyone has our _worst_ interests, _either_.”

Sokka just sighs.

“I dunno’, Snoozles,” Toph grins, wiggling her feet, “This guy sounds interesting.”

Sokka grumbles as Aang springs to his feet with a burst of wind. Whatever he says makes Toph cackle, but he ignores it.

“I _told_ you! This guy was– is awesome! He appeared in the middle of the night, blue mask and everything. He took out the guards without anyone noticing. And then he opened the door to where I was locked up and I was like ‘ _oh my Spirits, is that a real-life Spirit about to murder or save me?_ ’ and then–”

“His swords were so _cool_ , Sokka. You should have seen it! He was like–” he mimics slicing with both hands, making swishing noises, “and I didn’t even know you could use two at one time!”

“Well,” he crosses his arms, “ _Real_ swordsmen only need _one_ sword.”

Aang shakes his head, bouncing on his toes, smile only broadening.

“You two could be sword-buddies!”

“Yeah, Sokka,” Katara says, easy grin on her face, “you could be the best of _sword-buddies_.”

“So, you agree?” He turns to her, heart alighting with hope, “We should go back for him?”

Toph laughs.

Days later, they return to the teashop, bell twinkling with glee as he hops through the door. Aang recognizes the same guy from the last time. The one who’d stopped him from following into the back. He has the same, frighteningly unwavering smile.

“Hello! Welcome to The Water Lotus. Just the four of you?”

“We’re not here for tea, actually. Is the guy that was working the other day around?”

The man’s grin does not falter.

Aang stares back, slightly pouting his lips.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try our new Jasmine blend? We recently received imported leaves from the colonies in the south. Reasonably priced, and _very_ rich in flavor–”

Sokka interrupts, “I’m sorry, but if he’s not here, we can just leave. C’mon, Aang­.”

“Just tell ‘em, Hyun!” A voice hollers out of the kitchen, making Aang and the rest of his friends startle.

It’s only then that the man wilts, face collapsing into something human. It strikes Aang suddenly how _exhausted_ he looks.

“Lee and his Uncle left a few days ago. They’re probably still at Pao’s.”

Aang is about to ask more, when the bell behind them trills once again. Hyun’s face, eerily, snaps back into its regular shape and, voice oozing with placation, bids them farewell.

Pao’s Tea Shop, title emblazoned in faded, flaking yellow paint, appears around the corner like a vision from the Spirit World. Glee erupts through his chest, toes barely gracing the dirt as he spots it.

The door creaks shrilly as its swung open.

“Welcome to Pao’s Tea Shop, esteemed guests. Table for four?” A genial old man greets, deep green apron tied at his waist.

Aang breaks out the pleading eyes early this time.

“We’re looking for Lee, please. The guy at the other place said he was here with his uncle.”

The man’s smile twitches.

“My nephew is running a few errands at the moment. You are more than welcome to wait here with a nice cup of tea. Please, have a seat.”

Aang, already halfway to agreeing, is stopped by a hand gripped around his arm.

Toph steps forward, “What kind of errands?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I sent for some supplies for the shop, but my boy has never been predictable.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Toph frown. Slight but certain.

“He’s telling the truth,” she says, but she doesn’t sound happy about it.

Aang, however, is delighted.

“Table for four, please!”

The shop is mostly empty, murmured conversations and the shifting of cups on plates, porcelain clicking, are the foremost sounds around them.

Sokka and Katara are bickering over their tea. Ginseng is _definitely_ better than chamomile– sorry, Katara– but everyone’s entitled to their own opinions, so he keeps his thoughts to himself. Instead just focusing on the door.

“How long will he be?” he asks Mushi, the uncle, in a voice not unlike a whine.

Again, the man laughs softly, a whisper of grief in his eyes, “Spirits willing, before the end of the day.”

…which does not answer his question.

Katara stops in her impassioned defense of chamomile to meet his gaze across the table. Her eyes are gentle and so very kind as she says, “Maybe we should just come back tomorrow, Aang.”

He sighs, turning back to the door.

Minutes and so many more minutes pass; he’s about to acquiesce, when the old, squeaky hinges screech, prefacing the entrance of one _very particular_ person.

He catches himself, not willing to repeat his mistake at the Lotus, but his excitement overrules that immediately.

His chair shudders at the wood floor as he stands.

Aang only manages to call out his name, catch Lee’s wide-eyed expression, and take one step forward, when the guy rapidly turns and bolts back outside.

“I feel like we’ve been here before,” from Sokka behind him is all he hears before he rejoins the dusty street. 

Aang knew, after his brain had caught up to him, that Lee was not going to make this easy. He’s fast. Annoyingly fast. He just wants to thank him! Then they can _finally_ be best friends. Somehow, he knows, from somewhere deep and innate, that they need to meet.

Lucky for him, he’s an airbender. He can be faster.

Just ahead, Lee turns down a narrow side street, rickety buildings pressing in tight. Seeing his opportunity, Aang propels himself upward with a gust and a practiced kick against a lean-to pallet.

He lands softly, whirling a sandy cloud.

Lee skirts to a stop in front of him, feet scraping marks below him, and breathes heavily. He doesn’t look winded, but his gasps for air suggest otherwise.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Instead of answering, he turns around to run. Again.

“Wait–!” but there’s no point, and he sees it in the slump of Lee’s shoulders. Sokka and Katara are blocking the only way out.

The guy groans and looks back at Aang.

“What do you _want?_ ”

Aang smiles, trying to soothe the obvious– uh– _unease_.

“I’m the Avatar! I have a special connection to the Spirit World. I just _know_ we were destined to meet.”

Lee sighs, closing his eye, “I know who you are, and I don’t _care._ You need to _leave._ ”

“Charming,” Katara pipes up from behind him.

Lee turns, glare sharp, which does nothing to perturb her. She just smiles.

“ _Please_. We need your help.”

Sokka scoffs.

Aang sees Lee’s jaw twitch, his hands clench. He takes several deep, steadying breaths.

“No. It’s not safe for you here. You need to leave.”

That… isn’t his usual protest. And that’s not his usual scowl. He looks almost… concerned.

“What do you–?”

Lee doesn’t wait for him to finish, marching toward the siblings at the end of the alley. Sokka’s hand goes to his boomerang, but it’s not needed. He just shoves himself between them, knocking them into the walls, and keeps going.

Aang follows, keeping his pace tempered. He looks to Sokka, who’s furrowed his brow at the guy, seeing something he can’t.

Curiosity pulls them back into the main street.

“What do you mean?” It’s Katara that asks.

Lee slows, considering. It’s the last moment of silence before everything erupts into chaos.

Aang remembers adrenaline blurring the world around him. He remembers screaming for help, the image of Katara, fallen, burned in his mind. He remembers licks of ripping fire singing the hair on his arms. And he, somehow, cannot breathe, with all the air in his lungs, as the air crackles around the girl’s sharp movements. Hissing in his ears.

He can only watch as Lee attacks, something caught in his throat.

His swords are wild. Fury lacing his slashes, desperation dancing through his stance. Dodging flames with perfect horror.

“You’re supposed to be _dead_ ,” the girl spits.

He doesn’t respond, on the back heel as she grows in rage, blasts animalistic, terrifyingly intense, powerful. Aang can feel the scalding heat from his place beside Katara, who’s also gone completely still.

“Call your bison, Avatar,” Lee yells, eye flashing in the light of the eerie blue fire.

He can’t. They can’t leave without Appa. Appa’s still gone.

“I–!”

“Call your _damned_ bison!”

Helpless to do anything else, he does.

The moment feels empty. It’s so horribly full of screams of rage or grief, debilitating immobility, limbs frozen, eyes unblinking even when a hit rips over Lee’s arm, even when he almost drops a sword, even when he staggers backward. It’s so full that emptiness has swallowed it whole.

A shadow passes overhead, and Aang can finally breathe. The relief almost knocks out his knees.

“Lee!” He screams. “Come on!”

Lee is knocked to his back, then rolling from a fireball.

“Go!”

Aang steps forward, only for a hand to pull him toward Appa.

From nowhere, a column of earth launches the girl from where she’s stalking over to Lee.

Toph.

Relief, twice over, fuels him, rips him from Sokka’s grip as the guy staggers to his feet, confused.

Aang has no time to explain or argue; he just grabs Lee’s arm and runs.

They’re thousands of feet in the air when the adrenaline finally cools and Lee stops shaking. Terror. Relief. Who knows?

He holds it back, not willing to break the strange silence, but he can’t help but think it.

_I knew it was destiny._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sword time

The new guy is gripping the edge of Appa’s saddle too tight to be comforting. White-knuckled, fingernails cutting into the worn leather. Staring at nothing, the aftermath of violence is trapping him in stillness. Sokka knows the feeling all too well.

He feels it acutely, now. He can only replay his dismissal from the fight, the weakness in his legs and lungs, and horrible helplessness as his baby sister is forced to defend him. Katara is a force to be reckoned with, sure, but seeing her in danger is never easy. Aang had sounded so terrified, voice tremoring, pitched high. He was supposed to protect this kid, his new brother. And he couldn’t.

Foggy, he drags himself out from under that line of thought and turns his attention back on the new guy– _Lee_.

His hair is long and shaggy, probably by design. He hasn’t known him for more than a few minutes, but he’s a pretty easy read. It falls over his eyes, more specifically the blank, white left one. His scar takes up most of his face, ragged and severe. A unique disfigurement isn’t something one wants to have if they’re trying to be forgettable.

Aang’s attachment to the guy is another thing he’d been grappling with. At first, he was offended. The suggestion that Sokka wasn’t _enough_ –

It took a while before the weird spiritual ridiculousness surfaced, and he was able to relax. This was just some more weird Avatar-mumbo-jumbo. In all honesty, it wasn’t until Aang had given him a heart attack at the tea shop, that he’d even considered them maybe crossing paths.

_Then_ , amidst Aang’s desperation, Lee had refused to entertain the idea. Huge respect. It made Sokka’s evenings more arduous, yes, but he can definitely understand where the guy was coming from.

And now, Lee had nearly died holding off the crazy fire girl. He’d fallen to the ground and told them to go.

He’d expected to die so they could leave.

And live.

This is where Sokka’s understanding stops.

Toph eagerly leaps from Appa the moment they touch down. Making exaggerated kissing noises at the ground, laying prone in the grass–

It’s familiar enough that he finally exhales before following her lead. To a lesser degree, he finds comfort in being on solid ground. There’s nothing that he can do all that way in the air.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m _starving._ ”

“Aren’t you always?” Katara returns, too quickly.

He exhales, almost forgetting to pout.

Satiated, Sokka sets his bowl by his feet. The day had grown dark. Indigo-purple sky painted easily around the pink and orange of the setting sun, only just visible above the blackened, silhouetted tree-tops.

Looking back down, he goes to revitalize his debate with Katara, mouth open. Objectively _and_ subjectively the Saber Moose Lion is the coolest (not to mention deadliest) of all the animals. He stops himself, eyeing Lee instead.

He’d eaten silently. Not saying a single word since they left that dusty Earth Kingdom street. He _also_ thinks Lee has yet to make eye contact with any of them. He’d nodded politely at Katara’s offered stew, but his gaze stayed low.

The guy seems to favor the flickering of the firepit than any other company. Hunched and far, far away. His strange golden eye reflects the licks of flame between infrequent blinks.

“Hey,” he says.

Lee doesn’t move.

“Dude. You okay?”

After a moment of silence, all other conversation coming to a lull, he looks up. Meeting Sokka’s look, he just about startles.

“ _What_?”

“I asked if you’re okay. You looked pretty out of it, dude.”

The guy opens and closes his mouth, eyes shifting at those around the fire, no doubt all looking his way.

At first, when Sokka spots resignation in his slump, he thinks he’s going to be brushed off. _Boy_ , is that a misjudgment. As quickly as he’d gone limp, he tenses his entire frame. Fingers going stiff around the wooden bowl.

“You should have left me there,” he growls.

Taken aback, he lets out a disbelieving laugh, “We _saved_ your _life._ ”

“ _You kidnapped me.”_

“Well…” There really is no denying that.

Standing now, bowl abandoned, Lee snaps, “You think _this_ is _helping me?_ Helping _anyone?_ ”

“Hey!” Aang pops in, “It wasn’t his–.”

“Shut up, Avatar,” Lee turns to say.

From his side Katara gasps, then glares, “Leave him alone.”

“ _I didn’t– don’t want any part in this.”_

Sokka stands, meeting his eye with a sharp gaze of his own.

“If we left you there, you would be dead. I don’t care if you stay or not, but you can’t be mad at us for not wanting you to die.”

“Lee,” Aang is suddenly by his side, pulling the intense stare away from him. Sokka can’t help but exhale, tension leaving his jaw.

“ _I_ care if you don’t stay,” he pleads, “ _Destiny_ brought us together. _Please_.”

Sokka’s first instinct, in the face of that explanation, is to roll his eyes or, in this case, brace for impact, but Lee just freezes. His lip, curled in a frown, twitches.

Eventually, he breaks eye contact and shakes his head.

The campsite is an uncomfortable silent; crackling fire, chirruping crickets, bated breath, and grass-softened footsteps as Lee disappears into the woods.

Aang is wearing his sad, begging-eyes as he watches the retreat, flicking to meet Sokka’s. He wants to feel something else, but he doesn’t. All he feels is tired. Weary, unsure, scared, and really, _really_ tired. His limbs are begging him to be horizontal as he shakes his head.

“Well. I’m ‘gonna conk out. See ya’ on the other side.”

His back, neck, and shoulders release a series of cracks and pops as he stretches. He sighs, eyeing the crew sat in a quasi-circle. Katara and Aang are fussing over something. He really hopes that something is breakfast. Call him predictable but– a guy needs to eat.

Toph, closest to him, is also yawning away sleep, open mouth more akin to the unhappy awakening of a platypus-bear. Hair wild enough as well.

But. Hm.

One, two, three… counting himself, four.

“You guys seen the new guy?” He asks.

Aang looks up. The sad eyes again.

“No,” he pouts, “he was gone when I woke up.”

A pause.

Toph grunts.

Right.

“Oh, well!” he claps his hands together, “Food time.”

“He’s in the woods.”

Sokka startles, dropping Boomerang.

He turns to Toph, who’s smirking, to say, “There are– _so_ many other ways you could have done that.”

“But then you wouldn’t have yelped like a baby.”

He gasps, “I _didn’t–!_ ”

“He’s in the woods over there, or something,” she gestures vaguely at the trees to her right.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he crosses his arms with a huff. See if he cares.

“It’s been bugging you all breakfast.”

He scowls. _Stupid dirt-magic tingly sense._

“I don’t need my Earthbending to know you care about the guy. It’s kinda’ sweet.”

He sputters. Only gathering his words once she’s cackling from deep in her gut.

“ _No._ I don’t, no. It’s not! I don’t– _stop reading my mind!”_

Her cackling only gets louder as she walks away.

Sure enough, Lee _is_ in the woods. The faint settling in his chest goes ignored. Toph doesn’t know _everything_.

Not only is he here, he’s swinging around those swords that Aang wouldn’t stop talking about.

Shoulder against a tree, Sokka watches, arms crossed comfortably. Space sword, an easy weight at his hip, acts as a reminder. If a nobody like this guy, Lee, can fight like _that,_ there’s a whole world of danger awaiting them. He looks like a one-man tornado– if tornados were sharp, teenaged, and angry. If anyone asks, he’ll deny all claims of admiration, but– Aang was right.

“What do you want?”

He shakes himself from his thoughts.

“What?”

Lee rolls his eyes, sheathing his swords.

“I _said,_ ‘what do you want?’”

“You skipped breakfast. Everyone dearly missed your _lovely_ company.”

He snorts.

“I already ate.”

Sokka nods, pushing himself up from his lean. Lee just looks at him, eye narrowed, left foot drifting backwards almost silently.

“What do you want?”

_Jeez. What is it with this guy?_

He looks at the sky and sighs slowly, asking the birds for patience, before meeting his gaze again.

“Does everybody need to want something from you?”

Lee scowls, but otherwise doesn’t move. Says nothing. Blinks.

“Okay,” he says.

Still nothing.

“You’re the _worst_ conversation partner I’ve ever met.”

Ugh. _Nothing_.

“All right, then. Wanna’ spar?”

Just as he’d anticipated– Sokka’d been paying attention– Lee aims to distract, undersell. He has the advantage of two swords, an “exploitable” impairment, and speed. He also doesn’t seem to have a plan. Like, ever. If yesterday’s fight was anything to consider.

The first time he’s knocked to the ground, he stands back up, ready. Immediately, he spots a quirked eyebrow, as if this was unexpected. Sokka just smiles.

The second time his back hits the floor, he takes a moment to breathe, muttering lowly. But _only_ a moment.

The third time.

The fourth time.

The fifth time, he lingers.

Sokka rolls to his feet in time to see him putting away his swords. It’s been, what, fifteen? Twenty minutes? It stings, but he’s sure he’d be more offended if it wasn’t obvious that Lee was winded, too.

After meeting his gaze, Lee bows. And he’s not sure if his eyes are deceiving him, but there’s something that _almost_ looks like a smile hiding behind that curtain of black hair.

Sokka can’t remember what wakes him up. One moment, he’s penguin sledding on Appa, the next, he’s staring at a cloudy, speckled sky, wisps of smoke still tainting the air. The stars wink between grey splotches, decorating the endless nothing.

Crickets and badgerfrogs buzz through the tall grass. Windless night, and slow-drawn, sleeping breaths, leaving the world empty for their song.

Slowly, he sits up, as to not disturb Momo at his back, and looks around the circle.

One, two, three… counting himself, four.

He sighs through his nose and pulls his legs underneath him.

He finds Lee on the beach. Knelt and chin lowered, toes cutting mounds into the dense sand.

From his position a couple meters away, Sokka can, by the light of the moon, see muscle pulled taut through his shoulders, a betrayal to the metronome of his breaths.

Keeping his steps heavy, he scuffs his heels until he’s at Lee’s right, and plops himself down.

He leaves the moment quiet, keeping the smallest eye on the guy’s face. His are shut, lax; he’s puffing near-silent bursts of air out his nose, the picture of inward concentration. Sokka turns his gaze to the lake, paying dim attention to the tiny laps of water over land– well aware that every of his movements are under scrutiny.

“Y’know, I’m getting the feeling you don’t like us very much,” he says, only mostly kidding.

Lee hums.

“ _Yeah_. You never hang out outside of meals. You never sleep near camp. You’re always the first one up, which– by the way– You’re insane.”

Lee hums.

“Oh, that reminds me: do you even _sleep_?” He asks, gesturing emphatically at the night sky.

Finally, Lee peeks open his eye, small quirk on his lips that vanishes almost instantaneously.

“I don’t know you guys.”

Sokka nods, considering.

“Well, there’s Aang,” he says, lifting one finger, “the Avatar. He’s the small, bald one with the blue arrow on his forehead. Then there’s Katara…” two fingers, “my sister. Short, has brown hair, annoying. Also has magic water or whatever. Toph…” three fingers, “tiny, scary, Earthbending master. She’s the one in green. And then there’s me, Sokka. You know me.”

Through his speech, Lee has relaxed from his kneel, now cross-legged, with his arms pressed behind him, holding him up.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Lee turns his head to fully look at him, face open.

“You don’t make any sense.”

Sokka has a feeling he’s not talking about just him.

He smiles, “Call it an acquired taste.”

Lee snorts.

“Wanna’ spar?”

If Sokka’s being honest, the more he learns about him, the less he understands. Lee is clearly a soldier, a warrior. He fights with a confidence that he has nowhere else, _and_ with a desperation of someone on their last thread. Living comfortably in a tea shop doesn’t call for drastic measures. At least, he doesn’t think it does.

Furthermore, while nerves around new people is understandable, being nigh-incapable of not working and living alone is not. Especially when the guy was clearly _not_ alone when they, uh, “liberated” him from the Earth Kingdom streets.

He has a suspicion that the general wariness stems from the elephant-rhino in the room, painted across his face.

“Where are we supposed to find a _good_ firebender?” Katara crows over the fire at Aang, who’s taken it upon himself to make his problem _everyone’s_ problem.

“I knew plenty of good firebenders! My friend Kuzon–!”

Sokka interrupts, “He can’t teach you, Aang. Jeong-Jeong couldn’t teach you, either. We don’t even know where to start.”

“But,” Aang pouts, “I _need_ to learn firebending before we face the Fire Lord.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lee flinch.

“I know– but, I mean, maybe not?” he sighs, and then, as a last-ditch effort, “If _destiny_ didn’t give you a teacher, then…”

Lee stands, sparing Sokka from having to conjure the rest of that sentence. He goes to make eye contact, in thanks, but he’s ignored. The guy just leaves his empty bowl and a tense silence, quiet footsteps disappearing around a corner.

“I think you should leave all the firebending-talk for when _he’s_ not around, Twinkle-Toes.”

Sokka looks to Toph who, for all her joking tone, has a face as solid as rock.

Then it clicks. His heart sinks.

He meets Katara’s gaze, her eyebrows creased in concern.

“Oh no,” Aang says, face pale, eyes wide in realization, “Should I go apologize?”

“No,” he and Toph say at once. Him gentle, her firm.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Lee is sitting, dangling his legs off the edge of the temple, arms wound tightly around himself, fingers visible from where they’re clenched into his biceps.

With a bracing breath, he approaches.

The wind rushing over the ledge is brisk, stiff. The cavern is impossibly deep, mist, fog lingering low, giving the sensation of sitting above the clouds. It’s beautiful and empty; it’s impossibly quiet.

“Sorry about that,” he says lowly, crossing his legs beneath him.

Lee gives him a quick glance, brow furrowed, “Sorry about what?”

That makes him pause. He quirks his mouth, unsure of how to respond.

“Um,” he starts, “What else would we be apologizing for?”  
“I have no idea,” Lee says, barely moving his lips.

Sokka opens his mouth to respond, but, having nothing, lets it fall shut. Instead, he looks back over the yawning abyss. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s his prerogative. He can be silent company.

He can.

And he is.

The whistling air calms, and the bones in his butt are starting to go numb. He’s about to call it, desperate for sensation in his legs, when Lee speaks like he’s spitting out the words before they escape.

“I can do it. I can– I can teach Aang.”

Sokka is frozen. Dread begins to rise, unbidden.

“Teach him what?”

In response, Lee turns to face him, breaths measured. He squeezes his eyes shut, lifts his hand, and opens it; orange flame nestled safely in his palm.


	3. Chapter 3

Her first introduction to the guy was hardly uneventful. And, _obviously_ , she wasn’t overly focused on the specifics of his person. Instead, the far more pressing issue that was the demented fire girl who’d hurt all of her friends.

She’d barely caught a feel of him in the tea shop, and even less so once on Appa. All she’s gathered, by the time they reach dirty, blessed and grassy, safety, is that he’s around Sokka’s height and obscenely skittish.

Toph has no idea what to think. Not _once_ has his heart slowed below a heart attack. And _frankly,_ that makes him absolutely _no_ fun to hang around. It’s like befriending a swarm of hornetbees– doesn’t talk, doesn’t eat, doesn’t do anything but buzz, buzz, buzz.

_Annoying._

She’d tried, the first night, to talk to him. See, it’s not that she made no effort. No way.

He was amid the trees, pacing, muttering something she didn’t care about. The stress rolled off of him like ripples from a dropped stone.

“Yo,” she’d said.

“ _Aghh fuck”_ he’d said in return, ripples turning into angry waves. Steady feet nearly leaving the dirt.

And that was that.

Oh, well.

Aang is completely besotted, though. Has been for weeks. At first this bugged Sokka, so of _course_ she brought it up constantly. But now the guy is around, putting a weird little dent in their usual mechanics. Sokka seems to be trying to befriend him. Aang keeps singing and dancing poetic about, insert confetti, _destiny_. And she has no idea how to pester them anymore. At least– not in the same way.

Lee’s a recluse. A stray. The begging-type her parents tried to shield her from. She’s met dozens of people just like him– the Earth Rumble draws out all kinds– and they’re all the same. Terrified, desperate, angry– just overall messy jumbles of everything and too much.

She can’t parse out, ‘why _this_ one?’

“So,” she says, having stomped over to him, “what’s your deal?”

He looks up at her, twisting his neck far more to the left than necessary. Idiot. It’s not like she can meet his eyes, anyway.

“What?”

She crosses her arms, evaluating the sudden rigidity in the guy’s spine.

“Your _deal_. I know Aang is all goody-goody and can overlook it, but I’m not. And I won’t.”

His heartrate quickens. Buzzing.

“If you want me to leave, I c–”

She grinds her heel, sending a small stone smack into his temple, which he covers with a hand immediately.

“ _Hey–!_ ”

“That wasn’t what I was asking, stupid.”

He throws his hands out in exasperation, air swishing over the gesture.

“Wha–? I don’t know what you _mean._ ”

Toph sighs, frowning. He certainly doesn’t make it easy. Perhaps she should have seen this coming, given the _everything_ about him.

“Why don’t you eat with us? It’s making Snoozles all mopey.”

A pause.

“Snoozles?”

“Sokka. Duh.”

“Okay– uh. Well…”

He lapses into silence again. Buzzing underfoot.

Patience isn’t her greatest asset. In fact, many would say _im_ patience is far more prevalent in her character, depending on how long she lets them speak. She’ll eat her own toe dirt, though, before she allows this dude to win.

She sits.

“You don’t trust us, or something?”

“No,” he mumbles.

“‘No,’ you don’t trust us? Or ‘no,’ you don’t not trust us.”

She grins at the _smack_ that follows, sounding not unlike the noise a hand makes when suddenly meeting a forehead. Sokka makes the same one all the time.

“Sure. Why not?” he says, strained, pitched high, echoing over the empty cavern. She’s certain he’s not talking to her. Probably to the universe.

Poor guy.

“Well, what about me makes you think I wouldn’t kick your _be_ hind the _second_ I wanted you to get lost?”

Sound is weird in the Air Temple. It echoes in weird ways and weird places. Sometimes it’s swallowed by wind, making relying on her ears untenable. Unreliable. Conjuring up strange whistles and breezes that aren’t there.

And well– that’s the only explanation she can come with, in this moment, for why she _thinks_ she heard Lee just… laugh? It _sounded_ like a laugh.

“Okay, then,” he says, looseness in his voice.

It’s then, before she opens her mouth, that she notices that his heart had slowed.

Toph stands, half a mind on how he turns his body to watch, and flicks a _‘goodnight’_ over her shoulder.

Weird. How do you bug a guy that _calms down_ at _blatant threats_?

Definitely _not_ with talk about firebending.

Sure, she likes a good-natured ribbing, but even _she_ has a heart in the face of unadulterated panic. His chest, it felt, was about to crack open, worn down by incessant pounding and broken by a final blow, heavy enough to make her feet flinch.

It’s not the gang’s fault they can’t tell when a guy is having a heart attack two feet away from them. Except… it kind of _is_. There’s no way that isn’t showing on his face.

Aang and Katara sound mournful, at least, and Sokka, behind the beating of his heart, feels steady.

It’s better for them all to let him handle it.

Toph feels the second Sokka’s pulse goes crazy.

One moment, they’re chilling, the next, Lee turns, does something, and Sokka nearly falls over the ledge.

She’s about to stand, toss the new guy out on his ear, when she realizes neither is fighting. In fact, they’re barely moving. _What in Shu’s name–?_

To fill more detail, she abandons her meal, putting a hand to the ground.

Her brow furrows as they just continue to sit, cross-legged, face-to-face.

They return to the campsite not long after.

Sokka hasn’t completely calmed. His hands are steady, but his heart is still rattling, wild, under his ribs. He’s not as bad as Lee, though, who _must_ be wearing down his clothes with all the racket he’s making.

“Okay, Lee,” Sokka says, tone uncharacteristically blank, “Tell ‘em what you told me.”

“How in _Spirit’s_ name are you ‘gonna do that?” Katara says, sounding almost offended, “It’s not like you’re a _firebender_.”

“Um.”

Sokka’s hand connects with his forehead.

“ _You’re a firebender?”_ she shrieks, then, ground shuffling as she faces her brother, “ _He’s a firebender?”_

“I’m not a master, but–”

“ _You didn’t think to bring this up? Like,_ weeks _ago?_ ”

“Uh.”

Katara takes an audible inhale, only to be cut off.

“ _Okay_ , okay. I think we need a moment to– uh– discuss. If you could–?” Sokka says, body turned toward Lee.

There’s another pause; movements she can’t decipher.

Lee’s steps away from them then, leaving the crackling fire to the air. Heartbeat fast and confused. The quiet footfalls only just start to fade when Aang finally chimes in.

“Oh– my– Spirits,” he whispers, glistening eyes obvious in his voice, tears of joy wetting his words, “I knew it!”

“Why would he just _lie_ about something like that?” Katara says, heels pounding echoes into the stone.

Sokka sighs.

“Does it matter?” Aang says, “I have a _Firebending teacher_ , now.”

Katara huffs, “Of _course_ it matters.”

Toph turns to the vibrations below her, tracing walls, floors, cliff-sides, and the weight of her friends. Impressions of their bodies, cross-legged, pacing, dancing foot-to-foot. Of all of them, Aang seems to be having the strongest reaction. He’s always been a magnet, amplifier, for emotions, giving everything equal attention, pushing glee, excitement to the fore.

She’s found it easier to be stubborn, unyielding. She supposes Twinkle-Toes finds the same in happiness.

Lee seems to rely on fear.

“–he doesn’t enjoy bending, anyway.”

That tunes her back in.

“ _What?_ Why the heck not?”

Sokka hesitates.

Neither Katara nor Aang seem eager to respond either.

“Well…” his voice jumps an octave, “he has, uh– a pretty bad scar.”

Hm.

“Whatever,” she dismisses, feeling less than calm.

The rest continue their “discussion,” squabbling like hungry turkey-vultures. Round and around in circles. Oh, _he lied,_ but _he’s_ _helping,_ but _he_ _lied,_ but _he’s_ _awesome,_ but _he’s_ _rude,_ and _he_ _lied._ It’s obvious what the conclusion’s going to be. There’s no point in paying attention.

Or staying at all.

“Hey!”

Lee doesn’t startle like she was expecting, just makes a low humming noise in recognition. He’s in his usual brooding spot, slouched, heels knocking intermittently, hands pressed onto the dusty rock.

She pinches her mouth.

“You’re weird, dude.”

_This_ gets the reaction she wants.

“ _What_? Why?”

She laughs, causing him to turn from the cliffside.

“Of all people to not be afraid of, you picked the worst one.”

Silence.

Toph elects to interpret it as incredulity.

“None of _those_ dunderheads,” she says, punctuated with a thumb toward the group, “would pitch you over the edge if they wanted to.”

Lee hums again. Pulse stable.

She shifts her foot, stone connecting with his face, if the _‘ow’_ is any indication.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Toph says, intrigued and– if she’s honest– kind of annoyed.

There’s another stretch of silence. Hm. Sokka really wasn’t kidding when he said Lee sucked at this sort of thing.

“I… guess not.”

“See?” she crows, hands thrown in the air, “ _weird._ ”

It’s days later, after Aang’s earthbending practice, that she shuffles to the small room Lee’s been keeping to himself.

The wall is mostly crumbled, chunks littering the floor, riddled with jagged gaps, and quivering with the wind and idea of falling completely apart. Fitting.

Sparky’s breaths, even and methodical, belie the frantic pacing of his feet. They are solid against the floor, gone in a second, air flying forward, heated. His stance favors power behind the right, slanted forward. Every few minutes he slows, shuddering with something, before steadying his heart, hands, and lungs, and continuing.

It’s only upon his aggravated growl that she interrupts.

“You overcompensate for your left side,” she says, matter-of-fact, delighting in his small jump.

He puffs a laugh through his nose. It sounds far more bitter than amused.

“I do.”

“It doesn’t sound like fire, either.”

The exhale he releases is slow, heavy, weighted.

“That’s because it isn’t,” he mumbles, words curled in frustration, “not really.”

Toph feels the words burning at her tongue, the question knocking at her teeth, curiosity buzzing louder than a swarm of dragonbeetles. It’s a bad idea. It’s also not a nice one. But. When has that stopped her before?

“Is your scar a burn?”

He freezes solid. All energy smoothing. Even his heartbeat, usually so frenetic, stutters into a steady rhythm.

Then he laughs.

It’s not a small chuckle either, it’s big and hiccupping. She doesn’t know where to place her expression. Doesn’t know what it’s saying. And she doesn’t even shift her stance as he folds himself to the ground, legs crossed and still laughing.

Unsure of what else to do, she does the same. Sit, that is.

After a minute, he quiets, sniffing. Heart slow. She finds a small smile on her face. She doesn’t know what she did, but he needed it.

His anger grows every day. His responses are shorter and shorter every time she shoves her feet and nose into his training.

She never asks, but he tells. There’s a feeling. A suggestion that no one has _listened_ to him in a long time.

“I _know_ I’ve never been any good, but– this is–? _This is_ –”

Toph can feel the tension in his fists, hear it plainly in his growl. The air boils in his silence.

“My parents think I’m weak. Never wanted me to really bend.”

His posture straightens. He unclenches his hands. Listening, if not waiting for relevance.

“So, I ran away. It didn’t stick, of course, but… It’s how I learned to earthbend, from the masters themselves.”

Lee hums.

“And now I’m the greatest earthbender of all time. So, take my advice with that in mind.”

“Advice?”

Pulled short, she snorts, “How did you survive this long?”

His pulse steadies as he says, “I had help,” smirk sharpening the words.

“ _Clearly,”_ she snarks, then, “You should go back to the _original_ master firebenders. Learn a thing or two before your brain leaks out your ears.”

He and Aang disappear the next day.

Their return is punctuated by an air that only Aang usually occupies. The giggly enthusiasm, loud and bouncy, dances around them both, however. The kid is blabbering about dragons and rainbows and beautiful fire and life and his words themselves shimmer as he prances around the temple.

Lee’s response is probably not as visible. The others might not even notice. But she can feel it.

He’s lighter.

His heart beats instead of buzzes.

He sits with them at dinner.

He snorts at Sokka’s stories.

Toph will never admit it out loud, but she’s overjoyed. Being at war with a part of yourself, something built into the deepest parts of you, is… Unimaginable. Hating, or _fearing_ , earthbending is so beyond her realm of comprehension. Completely unthinkable. And this guy has been like a weird, distant, _distant_ cousin that accidentally became family.

His change is a relief.

Bullying Aang has been a solo mission for so long, she’d barely considered a co-conspirator. It almost brings tears to her eyes when she joins the firebending watch-party and finds a complete and beautiful lack of mercy.

“Again. Two more times.”

“But _Lee…_ ”

“Three more times.”

Toph’s cackle eclipses Aang’s drawn-out groan.

Katara, beside her, tisks, still tensing at every lance of flames.

“ _Again.”_

“I still don’t get why we have to get up _so_ _early_ ,” Aang whines, one afternoon.

Lee, across the campfire, says, simply, “Firebenders rise with the sun.”

“But _why_? It’s not _fair._ ”

Toph laughs. She’s betting everything in the world that he’s regretting his excitement. He complains just as much about _her_ training. But at least she wakes up when she _wants_ to. Really, she believes in cosmic justice, in this moment alone.

“It’s about feeling the sun. The sun is what fuels our bending.”

Aang grumbles.

“Don’t forget, buddy,” Sokka says, grin in his voice, “you asked for this.”

Aang grumbles louder.

Eventually, even Sokka joins the watch-party. His resolute disdain for bending thrown aside for the delight that is Aang’s pleading going absolutely nowhere. The pouting, whining, thrown in the face of Lee, who could not care less.

“But I already did it, like, a _bazillion_ times.”

“Again.”

“ _Lee…”_

Whatever face Lee makes sends Sokka erupting into laughter.

At some point, Aang and his tiny little brain figure he needs to try a new tactic.

“So... who taught you to firebend?”

Lee hums. Disinterested.

“‘Cuz, like, I didn’t think there were a lot of firebenders in the Earth Kingdom.”

“There aren’t.”

Aang hops from foot to foot.

“Ooh,” he says, eager, “You taught yourself?”

“No. Go again.”

“But–”

“Again, or I’m adding hot-squats.”

The lesson ends with Aang on the ground, laying spread-out, gasping dramatically, and Lee sat, peaceably stretching, a few feet away.

“So, you lived in the Fire Nation,” Sokka asks, measured.

Lee’s heartrate jumps, before saying, cautiously, “Not for a long time, now.”

“Sure, but you did at one point.”

Lee hums, “I did.”

Sokka says nothing else, presumably nodding.

Dismissing this, Toph stands from her perch on a boulder.

“Okay, Sparky,” she says, wiping her hands together, “How well do you think you can hold up against an Earthbender.”

Not very. But, she _is_ the greatest, so she can overlook it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not /thrilled/ per se with this chapter but. it is out of my hands now.


	4. Chapter 4

Always being a moment from life or death makes sleeping difficult. Katara’s grown used to the hard ground, stiff bedrolls, and the constant hissing of wildlife as a lullaby. It’s the imminent danger that’s the hardest to overcome.

She sleeps as well as she can, but even the errant hoot from an owl-squirrel shoves her into consciousness.

The night is fairly quiet tonight, all things considered, so it takes a moment for her blurry eyes to focus on the abnormal campsite. The fire has fallen to embers. Toph is snoring. Appa is snoring. Aang’s nose is whistling through peaceful dreams. But–

Her blanket rustles softly against her robe, falling away as she stands. Sokka and Lee are noticeably absent.

It only takes a minute to find them. Sokka may be an idiot, but Lee is a _predictable_ idiot.

The two are sat by the ledge he frequents, whispering in hushed tones. Her brother is gesticulating broadly, scant light wavering over his determined expression. Lee, as usual, listens like a stiff board, still and focused. Suspicious.

“What are you up to?” she asks, no care for volume.

They leap apart. Their terror would be comedic if it weren’t obvious that they were _scheming_.

“Oh! _Spirits_ , uh–,” Sokka says, rubbing a hand down his front, “y’know… guy stuff.”

“Mhm,” she crosses her arms.

“Yep! Yeah, you know…” he continues, “just all… that.”

Lee, somehow, manages to sound even guiltier, silent, with wide eyes, flickering between them, speaking louder than Sokka ever could.

“Okay,” she frowns, “just be aware. I’m already mad at you for whatever you’re planning.”

“Great!” Sokka squeaks.

That should have been it. But of _course_ it wasn’t.

It stewed for a few days. She knew not to let it slide, but she never managed to catch them. Not even last night. When they’d _apparently–_

“ _Gone fishing? Seriously?_ ” she crows, “They couldn’t have come up with anything better?”

Toph huffs, “This _is_ your brother and _Sparky_ we’re talking about.”

She’d rather die than concede the point, but she’s right. Sokka is headstrong and Lee is flighty. If any two people were to disappear in the night, leaving nothing but a flimsy excuse behind, it would be them. All things considered; they did know _she_ knew they were acting suspicious.

She frowns even further.

“Anyway. This frees up more time for earthbending practice,” Toph smiles, toothy and distracted, “Ready, Twinkle-Toes?”

Katara feels Aang slump from his position by the fire, and she almost cracks a grin.

They return in a war balloon– she doesn’t bother wondering where they got one, the explanation would only raise more questions– with a few more people than…

“ _Dad?”_

Whatever his response is, she has no ears for. She only feels the fabric around his torso, warm against her wet cheeks, and his arms wrapped tight, but not nearly tight enough.

His chest shakes, laughter rumbling over her eyes, pressed closed, pushing tears past her eyelashes.

Another hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She pulls away, looking only briefly at Sokka’s happy, relieved, but definitively smug, smile.

She whacks him on the arm, forcing a glare.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Everyone laughs. It’s too obvious she’s lying.

“And _then_ Lee over here decided to _leap_ , like a river-salmon with a death wish, over the pit of Spirit’s damned boiling–”

“Language, Sokka,” Dad admonished, chuckling low.

He mumbled a quick apology before continuing, painting their resident firebender in _glorious_ , victorious colors. She, though amused, has no doubts it’s all extremely embellished.

Opposite them, crackling fire exposing his unease, Lee’s flushed, gaze focused intensely on his meal.

In the past couple hours, she’s come to enjoy his… uh, _stilted_ mannerisms. All of his wary glances, jumps, and hesitations are more pronounced in the additional company. Katara had assumed these, in the beginning, were characteristics of a secretive, more malicious person.

No. This guy is just _fantastically_ awkward.

“Come on, Lee,” Suki interjects, “that _was_ pretty amazing.”

“Um... thanks.”

Tittering laughter averts his eyes. He sets his bowl to the ground before standing.

“Thank you for the food. I’m, uh…” he trails off, pointing a thumb toward his Brooding Ledge, and makes brisk work of his escape.

Katara rolls her eyes. Boys.

She turns back to Dad, whose face has grown pensive, watching Lee retreat. Sokka has resumed his tale, waving arms visible from the other side of their father.

“He’s always like that,” she says, pulling his attention.

“Hm?”

She shrugs, “Lee. He’s weird around new people.”

“I see.”

This time, it’s a nightmare that wakes her. Hand clasped over her mouth, she sits up. Counting breaths. Counting people. Watches Aang sigh, Momo’s ears twitching as he dreams, Suki roll over, away from Sokka’s snores, Toph’s toes casting sand onto the ground, and the firepit crumble, spitting lazy ashes as it dies.

Katara lowers her hand, lifting the other to wipe at her eyes.

A soft breeze, cold in the dark air, sends shivers down her arms, up her spine. She turns at the sound of murmured conversation. Emptiness easily carrying the whispers and grumbles.

All she sees, from her unfavorable angle, is Lee’s back moving grouchily as he speaks to– someone behind the broken wall. Arms twisting as they cross.

Careful and quiet, she stands, moving to the stone barrier, angle narrowing until the boy is barely in sight, then creeping alongside, stopping when the voices are discernable.

“–does a Fire Nation child end up in the Earth Kingdom, anyway?”

Her dad. She could smack her head at the obviousness. He was the only other one missing.

“I’m not– one. Not anymore.”

Her dad doesn’t respond, but she can picture the question on his face just the same.

“I’ve been dead to the Fire Nation for,” he pauses, taking a breath, “three years.”

Dead? How does a– _three years_ – a child end up as an enemy to an entire country? Did he desert the army, or something? Does the army recruit that young? It’s not entirely unbelievable.

The deeper voice hums, the tail end of his words dropping lower.

Whatever he said makes Lee recoil, edge of his scar now visible. Stark red against grey, shadowed stone.

“I don’t have a family,” he hisses, nervous tension dissolving into something angry.

Heart sunken and cold, she decides she doesn’t want to hear any more. She turns. Hastily stepping over haphazard rocks.

“Katara.”

She jumps, stubbing her toe in her spin to face– a rather _angry-_ looking– Lee. Forehead wound tight, gaze squinted in the dim moonlight. The silence clogs, the moment pulling her arms up guiltily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

He doesn’t let her finish.

“If you don’t trust me, just say so,” he growls, hands fisted, “I’m sure the Avatar can defeat my– the Fire Lord without _my_ help.”

Fury sparks, sudden.

“His name is _Aang._ ”

His scowl contorts further. His golden eye flashes cruelly. For a moment, she can see the evil firebender she was once convinced they all were.

He takes a breath.

“ _Easy_ ,” her dad interrupts, startling them both.

Lee, face falling blank, looks between them.

“It was just a small misunderstanding,” he continues, hands up in a placating gesture, “there are _no_ hard feelings.”

Though calm, the hardness in his eyes is unmistakable. She feels properly scolded, shoulders drooping.

Not even the air whistles as Lee stalks off, giving the tension the emptiness it deserves. Katara looks back at her father; sees his gaze soften as he disappears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were being so loud.”

She hugs herself, bracing in the night air, “You weren’t. Just had a bad dream.”

He hums. Replacing her arms with his own, her dad pulls her into a much warmer embrace.

“It’s alright. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs, lingering close at the kiss pressed to her hair.

They don’t.

Clouds of dust spit hot air, specks of rock stinging her skin as she tumbles backwards, arm covering her eyes. Her knees scrape on stone. Her dad is yelling. Sokka is yelling. The Fire Princess, atop a war balloon, is smiling. The same smile she’d worn amidst the crackles and hiss of lightning, as she prepared to _kill_ Aang.

She pulls water around her shoulders, rage cold and sharp.

“Yes, well,” the Princess says, sounding bored, eerie smile still affixed, “let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Lee had– he’d– he’d just–

Katara feels momentarily weightless, throat seizing. He’d just gone. He jumped. He just–

“ _Katara.”_

Her dad’s eyes, blue and wide, focused, intense.

“You need to _go._ ”

Fire is still flying, she can hear it. Far away.

She pulls him into a hug. It’s almost too warm, too much. She’s beyond shaking, beyond comfort; still, she feels her heart loosen. His chest hitches as they say goodbye. The hand on her head is firm.

She goes.

Lee isn’t faring well.

Even from his place on a war balloon, feet skidding along the surface, she can see him waning. Appa, under the strain of Aang’s direction, brings the confrontation into focus. The air is boiling. Impossibly loud. Wind crashes at their ears, shouts of strain, thundering rippling of flame.

The Princess looks calm.

Katara is uncertain if that is an improvement.

Lee, back to them, is slipping, attacks morphing into defensive postures. His knees aren’t as low. Conserving energy. Desperation holding him afloat.

Maybe _next_ time he won’t go jumping off any more cliffs.

Then, the Princess stops, body coming to a complete still. Lee prepares in a defensive stance, hesitant, unsure. She can’t see how Lee meets her eyes, but she can tell when. Like someone had struck him. Filled him with fire.

They’re almost there. She can see the malice in the Princess’ eyes. Golden brown. Shining with something _so_ similar to glee. She sees it grow as Lee steps back to join them.

“It’s nice to see you again, _brother._ ”

***

The world is impossibly large and confining in the reflection of young eyes. A girl, about fifteen now, goes to the market alone. This small facet of life, she knows, carries no further than the next town over.

She also knows she cannot stray beyond its familiarity. Not yet.

It looks as it always does. The stalls have the same smiles behind them, same product in their baskets, same pleas through their teeth. The chatter is dull, sky cloudy despite the warmth, and she imagines, again, what her brother would say.

Probably nothing, to be fair.

She likes to think he grew out of his silence. Maybe he’d comment on the wheat prices, the mold on the tomatoes, or the naïve new vendor trying to sell flowers.

Maybe.

She, sighing politely at another greeting, hopes his life is more exciting than hers. 

***

Katara cannot hear for the rushing in her ears. The buzzing in her chest and throat extends to her hands and eyes. It’s like drowning above water, easy to breathe and impossible to hold it in her lungs. The world is gray. Just out of arms-length.

“That’s your _sister?_ ”

She digs her nails into the flesh of her arms, the saddle’s hard leather pressing firmly against the small of her back. She keeps forgetting to count her breaths.

“Was.”

She can understand hiding his bending. She can understand that. How, though, was _this_ acceptable? He could have gotten them killed. Captured. The world burning under the– under _his father._ When she speaks, the venom nearly burns her own tongue.

“When, exactly, were you going to tell us that you’re the _Prince_ of the _Fire Nation_?”

Lee, from the comfort of her periphery, looks back at her, still.

“I’m not.”

He doesn’t flinch when she glares at him.

“I haven’t been,” he swallows, staring right back, “for three years.”

_I’ve been dead to the Fire Nation for three years,_ he’d said. Her mouth seals shut, tight frown, unbidden.

Sokka has a hand on his boomerang.

Lee has his hands in his lap.

“Can all this yammering wait until tomorrow?” Toph interjects, hand on Sokka’s elbow, “I’m fucking exhausted.”

She acquiesces, only to pause.

“ _Who taught Toph how to swear?”_

***

The dog is by the gate again.

Paws propped on the fence, spotted fur dancing with its movements, visible through the cloud of dust kicked and spun by cart-wheels. The wood trembles under its weight, creaking under the piercing yips from its pink mouth.

A man, weathered and weary, doesn’t even shift his gaze. He cracks the reins, jostling with the uneven path, bumping with the stones and sand and well-worn rivets. A soft swear, barely audible above the rattling axle, is all that’s given before it passes, disappearing down the lane.

A whine is pulled from its throat, feet dropping to the yellow grass, before it looks again to the right, where more will come.

From the house, an old man calls its name.

The dog goes home.

***

Ember Island is haunting.

The house looks, for all the world, like a regular beach house. Until you step inside. Until you look at the walls, the furniture, the carpet. And you realize it’s dead. Like a shroud, preparations for a funeral, curtains hover, emulate the eeriness of spirits. For all the ornate, luxurious grandeur, Katara can’t help but feel she’d prefer the cold ground of the temple.

Lee had told them, upon cracking open the ancient doors, where the bedrooms are. Where the kitchen is. Where the courtyard is. Clinical. Exhausted.

She can’t sleep.

Everything about this place is awful. The beds are too soft, feathered and floppy. The halls are too long. The ceilings are too high. The rooms are too big; they hold onto darkness and the chill.

And the art–

She can’t bear to look at Ozai for too long. The coldness in his eyes is palpable through the dark brushes of paint. His smile looks too pleased. Small and assured; shoulders proud. He looks down on her despite his unseeing gaze.

The woman beside him is entirely blank. She has lovely, pointed features, but beyond that, her stature is empty. Her gaze is not cold, and it is certainly not warm. She is not repulsed by her family, but she doesn’t seem to notice anything beyond the pigment of her irises. Hands held in front of her, she looks faint and immovable.

And the boy, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, has a gentle quirk of his lips, a soft light in _both_ of his eyes.

Footsteps sound close by. Hastened by the scarlet rug lining the floor.

She turns.

“Is he why you left?”

Lee stands a few feet away, arms wrapped around himself, and shakes his head.

“I didn’t leave,” he says, matching her low tone; nothing echoes through the empty hallway. His eye is dark as it examines the painting, weighted with a history she can’t read.

She hums.

“You hate him as much as we do.”

“I don’t…”

Katara dismisses this with her hand. He goes silent, a jerk of his jaw. A wave rushes down her body. It’s ice cold, scalding, and heavy. She’s tired, she’s scared, she wants to fight, finish it, and she wants to go home.

“He…” she turns back to the portrait, “he killed my mom, and so many others, ransacked our village, sieged brutal war on millions who couldn’t defend themselves, brewed chaos wherever he could touch, and hurt _so_ many people in the name of his own power.”

Lee doesn’t respond.

“One of those people was you, Lee,” she says, emotion dropping her voice to a gravelly whisper.

When she braves a glance, his eyes are shut.

“I feared for my family, today. I’m sorry I blamed you.”

He meets her gaze, face open.

And smiles.

***

The Earth Kingdom forces are weary. Months, years, eating from a dirty pot, back strained and crooked from nights on the frozen ground, the smell of burns and ointment, flinching from the campfire as they try to force their spirits upward.

One such man spins a yarn, hands dancing through the unsteady light, about a small little Earth boy, orphaned and stubborn and brave enough to seat a dragon. How he fights like he was born doing so. How the sharpness of his blades and his eye seem almost mythical in their severity.

He tells the silent campsite a tale of a lonely child, fierce and afraid, who would fight an army himself if he got close enough.

With heels ground into the earth and a fire in his soul, the world will bend before he does.

***

At Lee’s insistence, they’d departed only days later, heading for something called ‘The White Lotus.’

The wall had crumbled, opening and folding with the proud hand of earthbending. And she saw– Tents and people. So many _old_ people. She can feel her mouth collecting moonflies, but– To be fair, there’s no way she could’ve expected this.

“Ah, Zuko,” one of the old men said, stepping fluidly into their path.

Katara frowned, opened her mouth, but the man continued.

“Your uncle will be overjoyed,” he smiles, jerking his head to his right, “Last tent by the tree.”

With that, he walks away.

She whirls around, question on her lips, when she catches the look on her brother’s face. Brow furrowed; lips pouted, hand stroking his chin. He’s got is dumb planning-face on, which doesn’t help her much; what _does_ is the person he’s scrutinizing.

Lee.

Who doesn’t seem to notice they’re still there.

Face blank, staring in the direction the man suggested. Where the uncle is.

“Zuko?”

He looks back.

She sighs, “Go see your uncle.”

***

A couple sits at a table, reminiscing through the perfumes of jasmine and ginger. It’s hard to find a moment of peace in these days of wartime. But they find it just as well in the early mornings.

The woman rests a gentle hand on the man’s, drawing his eyes from his teacup.

Their murmurs keep the dusty pink of dawn calm. Even when these words speak of desolation.

They are not wealthy; they have enough for a comfortable living, but nothing more. This much is a gift from the Spirits under the pain of the last one-hundred years. It’s a relief that calms the wrinkles around her eyes and sinks his brow in thanks.

But not many have their luck. The impoverished run through the same dirt he cleans off his shoes. They sleep in the corners he can’t bear to approach. They eat through chance, a gamble, a bet, a beg, a plead. Every day is as insecure as the last.

He can’t help but wonder if the kid is still alive. Does he know he’s missed? Does he know he’s worried about? Does he have a family?


End file.
